Gold Dust Woman
by LibertineQueen
Summary: "Whoever said that light was life and darkness nothing? For some of us, the mythologies are different." CROWLEY/OC.
1. Prologue

**Gold Dust Woman**

**Chapter One: Prologue**

_Above all else, witches crave power. _

_Even at the tender age of nineteen, Elizabeth was no exception to the rule. If Crowley hadn't been such a consummate businessman, he might even have felt sorry for her. A low-level, no-talent witch shivering in the dark at a crossroads, ready to sell her soul for enough power to control, nay, __**hurt**__, the other members of her coven. It was all rather tragic really, but after centuries on the job it was just another textbook revenge case._

_Crowley stepped back to watch as Ida, a demon new to the crossroads game, went to seal the deal. You can have your power in exchange for your soul, which the hell-hounds will come for in ten years time yada yada yada…_

_The whole exchange was completely uninteresting to the King of the Crossroads. He stood with his hands in his pockets and watched his demon trainee and the jittery witch stare at each other. All blonde-hair and blue eyes, this young woman looked more Glinda then she did Wicked, except of course for the yawning chasm of greed that grew like a fire within her. It didn't matter how much power she got through this deal, she'd never be satisfied. Crowley had seen it a thousand times. The witch had great ambition, uncommon really for one so young, but there was something else too…_

_It almost held her back. _

_Almost. _

_Crowley teleported forwards before Ida could close the transaction, cocking his head to the side and pointing at her stomach._

"_Change of plans, darling. If you want these powers, and I happen to know that you really, really do, you're going to have to give something a little extra. Your daughter."_

_The witch paled._

"_But I don't have a daughter…"_

_Crowley smirked, "I'd say in about eight months you will. But then you know that, don't you? Somebody's been a naughty little witch." He paused for dramatic effect and pulled a contract and pen from his pocket. "On her twenty-first birthday your daughter is mine, and there's the small matter of your soul of course. Ten years darling. I'll leave Ida here to fine-tune the details of the deal. Have a nice…well, what's left of your life."_

_And just as quickly as he was there, Crowley, King of the Crossroads, was gone._


	2. From Paris with love (and monsters)

**Gold Dust Woman**

**Chapter Two: From Paris with love (and monsters)  
><strong>

_'and when I let him in I feel the stitches getting sicker_  
><em>I try to wash him out but like they say, "the blood is thicker..."<em>  
><em>I see my mother in my face<em>  
><em>but only when I travel<em>  
><em>I run as fast as I can run<em>  
><em>but jack comes tumbling after...'<em>

* * *

><p>Roxanna Reynolds wore her nonchalance stubbornly like it was her style aesthetic; when she entered a room she swayed her hips and gave you the side-eye like she already knew all your secrets. It was a performance, a way of hiding herself in plain sight. If you showed yourself to be vulnerable you were more likely to get hurt, if you showed your strengths people generally left you alone. That was her theory. She hadn't yet grasped the fact that a person could show equal measures of both and still be fine. Her truth was that a woman like her needed to be cleverly shielded to survive. She needed to slip through crowds undisturbed. But a secret she would not admit even to herself was that Roxanna <em>wanted<em> to be truly mysterious; it was a quality that was attractive to her in others and so she in turn wanted people to be intrigued when they saw her. Her conflict was being torn between what she needed to do and what she wanted to do; she had been that way since childhood. People were indeed intrigued by her but mostly because she gave off all the warning signs of a person who was troubled.

She was only a month away from her twenty-first birthday when she arrived in the States with a weary disposition and just two bags holding all her possessions. She wanted a new start, _needed it_, because in the old world Roxanna had discovered things that had left her scarred. There were creatures in the world that she had never imagined could exist outside of books or the movies, and there were things she could do that she could not allow others to see.

It was in her nature to run.

She was born to it; an orphan who grew up in England with no clue as to her origins and bolted to Paris the minute she turned eighteen. She learned many things there, most of which she longed to forget and not because it was especially tragic. It just...didn't make sense. On the streets of Paris she was quickly drawn into a collective of fellow misfits; writers and poets and painters and dancers. They wore dark clothing, smoked clove cigarettes and were generally cynical about everyone that wasn't them. In short, Roxanna had found her people. She was, after all, the bohemian type. She had luxuriated in the feeling of being part of something, and it was from among that group that she took her first lover. _Henri._ He was ten years her senior, all dark hair and gentle caresses in the dark. He was strong, and he could make her laugh like no one ever had before. Henri was a true, brooding romantic.

A true, brooding romantic who also happened to be a hunter.

It was with Henri that Roxanna found herself plunged head-first into a whole new world of monsters with bad intentions and sharp fangs. It was also during just such an altercation with one of these creatures that she unwittingly revealed her power to him. She could move small objects without touching them. In this case it was Henri's silver blade back into his hand just moments before a wraith was upon him. She had saved his life, and at the same time revealed her secret to someone for the first time. It was just the beginning.

A year or so later and she was gone; her desire to get out of hunting strong enough for her to leave her beloved Paris behind, and the passion of her affair with Henri having long since burnt out. With no ties it had been easy for her to roam across Europe, and then over to America. She was very much a drifter in this brave, new world; living out of a hotel room and working the late-shift in a supermarket by night. By day she slept, ate grapes and tried desperately to paint like the old French masters. Her canvases were full of dark things; her way of trying to understand what she had seen these last few years. In her bluer moods she tried to assure herself that although her life wasn't great, it was at least hers.

But a lonely soul like Roxanna drew attention from humans and _others _alike in ways that were not at all coincidental.

One night she was walking back to the hotel from work with her handbag slung over one shoulder and two, large grocery bags in her arms. In one hand she clutched her door key, on occasion slowing her pace to try bracing both bags with one arm so she could brush her long, black hair out of her face with the free hand. It was awkward to say the least, but the breeze was stronger than it had been when she'd left from work and it was hard enough to try and see over the top of her groceries, let alone with hair in her face.

As Roxanna approached the parking lot of the hotel she paused for a brief moment to cast her eyes up at the sky.

"Great," She sighed. "Another storm's coming."

She made her way across the lot, trying to discern her room number through the darkness. She had been in the middle of deciding whether she had the energy to read a bit before bed when she collided with someone, squeaking slightly as their weight sent her to the ground, her bags falling with her. When she looked up she found herself staring at a ridiculously tall man, who immediately crouched down, examining the mess.

"I am _really_ sorry about that, I didn't see you ther- ah…" The man stopped mid-sentence as he examined the contents of her torn grocery bags. A box of shotgun shells and multiple large packets of salt, three of which had split open upon impact with the ground, strewing their contents on the concrete.

Roxanna stared at the mess, and then at him. How did she explain this? It wasn't exactly the usual kind of shopping a single woman would bring home.

The hotel room door next to hers opened and another man stepped into view, eying the situation the same way the first one had.

"Sammy!? What's up?"

Roxanna decided to smooth over the situation before any questions came up, because in truth she didn't know how she would answer anyway. "Nothing, listen, I'm sorry," she glanced at 'Sammy' as she attempted to pick up what was salvageable of her stuff. "It was my fault, my head was in the clouds you know.."

She tried to play it cool as she stood up, now searching the ground for her key. The silence was deafening, only broken by the tapping sound of metal on plastic that was her key, in the hands of the second man.

He smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. "Yours?"

"Uh, yes." Roxanna reached out to take them from him but he moved his hand just out of her grasp.

"You on the case?" He said.

It took her a few moments to realise what the hell he was talking about, and her heart sank. She had come to America to get away from all of _this_, and here it was starting all over again.

"No, no I'm not." She tried to sound confidant, tried to bring up that charm she was well-practiced in in order to mask her disappointment.

"But you are a hunter?" 'Sammy' circled around her to stand next to the other man.

"Well I've been known to hunt, yes. But not now, and not in this country." Roxanna gestured around her stupidly as if somehow they hadn't already discerned that she was, as was sometimes said, _a stranger in a strange land._

The man holding her key stuck his bottom lip out slightly and nodded as if to say, 'fair enough.' The ridiculously tall one did practically the same thing a beat or two later. It was clearly to her immediately that they were old-hands at the hunting game.

"Well, I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean."

"Roxanna Reynolds." She gave them a polite smile as Dean passed her key back to her before she turned towards her door, calling out over her shoulder, "Good luck on the case, boys."

It was her experience that it was better not to linger, better not to get involved. The Winchesters seemed to accept this and shuffled back into their own room. Roxanna exhaled deeply, the chill of the night air sending shivers down her spine.

Across the parking lot and hidden from view, the former King of the Crossroads and reigning King of Hell watched with interest as the young woman went into her room and closed her door.

'_Soon,"_ he thought to himself. _'Soon.'_


	3. A Cautionary Tale

**Gold Dust Woman**

**Chapter Three – A Cautionary Tale**

* * *

><p>Roxanna loved to paint. It was one of the few things that relaxed her, even if in truth she was only slightly better than an amateur, and nothing like the great artists that she emulated. Like Lautrec she favoured thin brushstrokes, and her subjects were <em>kind of<em> people, but she lacked his vision. Her work always became about her memories; the vampires she and Henri had cleared out of a Parisian church, for example. Or the banshee she'd taken on alone (this had proven to be a bad idea). Her sketches were better than her paintings, but the act of filling up a canvas with acrylics always felt like a big project. It was good for her to have that; it focused her mind and gave her a sense of achievement. She felt like she was actually doing something important, even if it was only for her.

Plus, you know, it kept her away from what was out there.

It had been two nights since her unfortunate collision with Sam Winchester, and she'd returned to her room with a rare smile on her face. It was pay-day, and for someone living out of a hotel room and only eating sandwiches for dinner, this was very good news. Of course most of the money would go on food and renting her room for another week, but she'd decided on her walk home that she'd go into town on the weekend and treat herself. This meant buying a book or two, and maybe some more art supplies. It was rare that she got to do this at all, but having no companions in America meant that such distractions were kind of necessary to her happiness.

Roxanna longed to make new friends, but somewhere along the line it had become difficult for her; like a switch had been turned on in her mind that rendered her incapable of being anything other than an unattached drifter. She was at odds with herself.

She stifled a yawn as she crossed the room to turn the TV on.

"Sammy!"

A voice broke through the relative quietness of her room, and Roxanna looked up, her hand still hovering over the remote control. What followed was the sound of glass breaking, and several definitive thuds against the wall that connected her room to that of the Winchester brothers. At first, it crossed her mind that they were simply drunk and fighting, but knowing what she knew about their occupation, there was a good chance it was a hell of a lot worse than that. She pressed her ear against the wall and listened to the muffled voices, unable to make out exactly what was being said, but certainly recognizing what a fight sounded like.

Even if she detested the lifestyle and everything it entailed, there was no way Roxanna, as an _ex-_hunter, could ignore what was happening. She ran over to one of her bags, pulling out an iron blade and a small bottle of holy water. Her eyes had been drawn to her shotgun, but the noise would draw too much attention and if the boys weren't firing, it probably meant that bullets were ineffective against this creature anyway.

She left her room, hoping that she was right about what she heard and wasn't about to walk in on some kind of tense, family quarrel. The door to the Winchester's room was closed, but she tried the handle and found it open. The second she stepped inside she was thrown across the room by something she hadn't even seen. She lost her weapons along the way, and was slammed headfirst into a kitchen counter. The door closed ominously behind her.

"Well, shit." Roxanna struggled to stand up, realizing that she was definitely, absolutely, positively out of practice.

She breathed deeply and stared at the four black-eyed bastards standing in front of her. _Demons. _Dean rose up from the floor a little to her right, his nose bleeding profusely. He was clutching a knife. Sam stood panting across the other side of the room, trying to edge his way towards the bottle of holy water she'd dropped when she'd been thrown. Roxanna could see her knife sticking out from underneath one of the beds, but no matter how hard she focused her power onto it, she could move it only a few inches off the ground. Her ability had been temperamental ever since she'd sworn-off hunting.

Sam scooped up the bottle of holy water as he charged one of the demons, unscrewing the lid and shaking some into its face. It hissed as it burned, and Sam used the opportunity to throw a few well-placed punches. Dean was doing everything he could to stab the demon that was advancing on him, and Roxanna found herself stuck with two of them coming straight for her. Without a weapon at hand, all she could do was try to avoid their blows and hit back at them if the opportunity arose. This was harder said than done; the minute she hit one of them, the other would strike at her.

She saw Dean successfully turn and thrust the knife into the chest of his opponent, but instead of merely wounding the demon, he had…_exorcised it? _

"Hey!" He shouted, "Catch." He threw something in her direction, his voice momentarily distracting one of the demons in front of her. She kicked its feet out from under it as she leapt to grab the object – a salt-shaker. Frantically twisting off the lid, she flung the shaker's contents at the demon still coming at her, and then a knife appeared from its stomach, and she realised that Dean had crept up behind the demon. He got rid of the one of the floor quickly after this, whilst Roxanna ran for her own knife, slashing the back of the last demon as it pinned Sam against the wall. It had just enough time to turn and send her flying across the room before Dean was able to get at it.

She landed on her back, something slicing through her skin on impact with the floor. Then came the sudden, searing pain, and her vision began to darken. Over the next hour Roxanna found herself fading in and out of consciousness just long enough to hear the Winchester's voices…

"She's bleeding out, Sammy!"

…

"Here, put pressure on it."

…

"We have to get out of here, fast. Someone's bound to have called the cops."

"What if they saw her come in here?"

…

"Clear out her room, fast. Can't leave any trace."

…

"Here, help me get her in the car."

…

"Damn it, what are we supposed to do here!?"

…

"Just a little bit longer."


	4. The Time is Near

**Gold Dust Woman**

**Chapter Four – The Time is Near**

_'We know the story.  
>She turns<br>back to find her trail  
>devoured by birds.<br>The years: the  
>undergrowth.'<em>

* * *

><p>When Roxanna woke, it was with a deep breath, as if she'd been struggling underwater and had managed to resurface only in the last, vital moments. Her heart was beating thunderously in her chest, and she was staring directly into the eyes of a man that she didn't recognize. She was lying on a bed, and he was a little too close for comfort, touching two fingers to her forehead. When he saw that she was conscious he stepped back, but not before she caught a glance at the expression on his face. It began with confusion and developed quickly into a look of pure dread. Roxanna shifted her position as he turned away from her, propping herself up on her elbows to find Sam and Dean hovering over her.<p>

"What the fuck happened to me?" She lifted her shirt slightly but saw no wound where the terrible pain had been.

"You died." Said the man who had been touching her.

"What!?"

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Only briefly." He added, like somehow that helped.

"Look," Dean stepped forward, "when that black-eyed bastard threw you, you landed on a big hunk of glass. You were bleeding out all over the place. We tried to fix you up, but things didn't exactly go to plan, so…"

"He's Castiel. He's an angel, they can heal." Sam said it so casually that it made it seem normal. Roxanna had to admit to herself that for a hunter, all this goblins-and-ghouls nonsense _was _normal, but in her heart she was still fighting for the world she'd known before hunter's lore had became common in her vernacular.

As if all manner of monsters weren't complicated enough, there were angels now too? It was almost too much for her to process. Roxanna sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. To her the 'angel' looked like any ordinary guy, one who's behaviour was a bit strange but nonetheless, just your average joe. If she had to give it her best guess, she'd say that like demons, it was probably occupying a vessel, but this was completely new for her and it was difficult to tell. She wondered why Henri and the other hunters she'd run with in Paris had never mentioned angels when giving her the ol' Hunter 101. Unless they didn't know either.

"But he said I _died_?"

"Angel powers." Dean smiled at her. "They're intense. Besides, when he said 'briefly'…man, did he mean it!"

"Uh, thanks?" She nodded unsurely at Castiel before turning back to the boys. "Where am I?"

"C'mon." Sam gestured to the door, and they all shuffled out of the bedroom after him, walking one-by-one down a small corridor until they stepped out into a large, well-lit library. As she took it in, Sam explained to her about the Men of Letters, and about the bunker, which was warded against all evil. To her right Roxanna could see that the library was joined to another room; this one circular, with a balcony and a long table in the centre. As if all this wasn't impressive enough, she could see other doors and corridors that led off to who-knows-where. Sam was explaining how the warding system worked when Roxanna noticed Castiel looking at her again. It was that same, strange look he'd given her before; as if he didn't quite know what to make of her. She in turn did not really know what to make of him, so at least they were well-matched.

"Hey." When Sam finished speaking, Dean butted in: "We got your stuff cleaned out of that hotel room, it's in the car…and I mean we don't tell people about this place but since you're a hunter-"

"_Was. _I _was _a hunter." Roxanna stopped him mid-sentence.

Dean looked at her like he didn't quite believe her, and then continued: "Riiiight. Well, since you passed all the usual checks, _was _a hunter, and we dragged you here anyway, you can stay until you get yourself together. Dyin' ain't exactly a walk in the park."

Roxanna folded her arms across her chest, "You'd know?"

Both of the Winchester's laugh, almost bitterly, at this. But it was Sam who raised his eyebrows at her and smiled, "You have no idea."

Roxanna wondered what she'd gotten herself into.

"I'm afraid we have a problem." Castiel mumbled. "Roxanna...when I healed her I came into contact with her soul..."

"What is it, Cas?" Sam braced himself for the news.

"She..." Castiel's words were faltering, and he shifted his gaze between the three of them like he didn't know who to say it to. Finally, he turned directly to Roxanna. "You are the subject of a prophecy, an old one-it's imprinted on your soul."

"What!?" Sam and Dean exclaimed simultaneously, looking at Roxanna as if, even though they were complete strangers, they were hurt she hadn't shared this information earlier.

"I don't know anything about this! It can't be true, maybe you're wrong Castiel." She said.

The trench-coat wearing angel shook his head. "Angels have this information programmed into them; I recognize a prophecy when I see one. I believe it was the prophet Esaias of Ancient Greece who was shown this vision."

"Alright, so - what is it?" Dean pressed his palms flat against the surface of the table and learned forwards.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Silence filled the room as Roxanna thought. She couldn't say that she wanted to know, more that she had to. Probably. All this on top of the news that she had literally died at some point during that same hour? It was a lot to process to say the least.

"I have to know, I guess. Isn't that kind of the point of a prophecy? Besides, what if it's terrible? I'm not about to let this mystical angel destiny shit control me." Roxanna slumped down into a chair next to where Dean was standing.

Castiel tilted his head and looked at her sympathetically for a moment, before nodding and taking a few steps back. As if on queue, his whole body froze, and a golden light emanated from his eyes, his voice was a deep monotone, robotic almost, as he began to recite the prophecy.

"_One human woman _

_from otherwhere._

_Hunters rage,_

_Raven hair_

_When she appears, the time is near."_

Roxanna dropped her head into her hands. If it were physically possible, her heart would have shrivelled up and turned to dust right there. She did not understand what was going on, and for a second she began to think that maybe she'd snapped. Or died from that shard of glass and was now paying for all her wrongdoings in a fucked up dreamland that only a place like Hell could have conjured up.

"Okay..." Sam said, calmly, over the sound of Roxanna groaning. "But what does that mean?"

"The prophecy describes the coming of the Queen Consort of Hell." Castiel spoke so matter-of-factly, he was making life-ruining revelations seem like small talk.

"Yeah. I mean, Queen?...Consort? What the fuck!? I don't want to rule Hell, I can't even organize my own life!" Roxanna pushed her chair away from the table and stood up in exasperation; with her hands on her hips she began pacing up and down the room, staring at her feet like they'd somehow give her the answer to all of this.

"Well, techinically you wouldn't be ruling it. The King would. I told you - this prophecy is very old. It speaks of events that will only happen if Lucifer defeated Michael on the battlefield."

"Which will never happen since they need Sam and I to do it." Dean interrupted, and when Roxanna paused to give him a questioning look, he said: "I'll explain later."

"I put Lucifer back it the cage once, I'd do it again if I have to." Sam said, apparently always eager to show his solidarity with his big brother.

Then, suddenly, the sound of slow clapping reverberated around the room.

"Well, isn't this a touching scene."

A figure stepped forth from the shadows. It was a man, clad in a fine, black suit and crimson tie. His gait was confident, his beard neatly trimmed, and he had large, expressive eyes that bore into Roxanna like she was something that he wanted to consume. As he raked his eyes up and down her figure, he put his hand into the pockets of his blazer.

"Crowley." Sam grit his teeth. "How did you get in here!?"

The man gestured to himself, "King of Hell."

He smiled smugly to himself and took a few more steps forwards, all the while keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Roxanna. "Of course, you boys do have something that is bound to me, something I've been keeping tabs on for some time now."

Dean pulled his knife from his pocket. "You'd better get to the point, jackass, or I'm gonn-"

His words faltered as Crowley conjured a scroll, unravelling it until the end rolled just far enough to touch Roxanna's feet. She knelt down to examine it, and the few sentences she took in made it clear to her that this was some kind of contract, although the significance of it escaped her until she read the name written there in black ink: _Elizabeth Reynolds_. She stood up on shaky feet and clenched her fists, which elicited a smug laugh from Crowley as he disappeared the scroll.

"That, my darling, is a contract your witch of a mother signed before you were born. Her soul came to Hell's piggy bank after ten years, and on your twenty-first birthday you officially belong to me. Which by the way, is oh, a month away?" He tilted his head slightly and smiled.

"You bastard. Why not just kill me at birth instead of making me live…" Roxanna gestured all around her. "This."

He laughed again, sending a shiver up her spine. Dean and Sam were still poised for a fight, and Castiel had taken a few steps closer to her whilst Crowley had been talking.

"That wouldn't have been any fun." Crowley grinned. "Besides, I didn't conduct the deal. I was just an overseer of sorts, but it was fair. Your dear old Mum got a great deal of power, and when my birdies informed me that some of it had been passed onto you, I was interested. I'm all about _good business_."

Castiel produced a long blade from his sleeve, prompting Crowley to do the same. Roxanna was surprised to see that he did not seem concerned, as if this was something that happened all the time. But from what she had gathered from the way the boys had responded to him, they had a long history with this demon. She stood there and watched tentatively as he flicked his eyes away from Roxanna to observe the positions of Castiel and the Winchesters, keeping his monologue going: "Now, now, gentlemen. As much as I love our little showdowns, I'm not here to rumble. I've been observing the lovely Roxanna here since she came to the States. Keeping an eye on my investment, as it were. But then the Baby-In-A-Trench-Coat spilled the juicy details of that prophecy, and I realize now that she's far more valuable than a simple soul."

He disappeared quickly, reappearing behind Roxanna. She was only alerted to this fact when he whispered into her ear, his hot breath caressing her neck: "Like I said, darling – I _was _interested. Now? I'm intrigued."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Note: <strong>**Hello! I'm so sorry it's been like a month since my last update of this fic, but I can assure you I haven't abandoned it. I study English Lit & Writing at university and had four *huge* essays due for late November/early December, so I've been super busy lately. Again, I'm sorry for the delay but now let us resume as normal. I'd also like to take this moment to thank everyone who has reviewed! I'm super encouraged by your thoughts, so do share them with me if you want to! :D **


	5. Wayfaring Stranger

**Gold Dust Woman**

**Chapter Five – Wayfaring Stranger**

'_Well I don't wanna be tested by God or anyone else…'_

* * *

><p>A day after Crowley and Castiel had made their dramatic proclamations; Roxanna was all moved into the bunker. This had not been her choice; her initial reaction to any and all problems was to run as far and as fast as she could. It was how she'd ended up in the States after all, or at least that's what she had thought. With all these revelations about prophecy and contracts, she was beginning to wonder if she'd ever had any free will at all. Had her whole life been leading her slowly and gradually up to this? Had her mother's contract all been a part of this 'destiny' crap? It was enough to make a woman give up.<p>

Roxanna had wanted to leave the bunker immediately, had actually tried to sneak out, only her unfamiliarity with the bunker was her downfall and the boys had discovered her quickly. In deference to them, they had assured her that she wasn't a prisoner. It was just safer for her to stay until they and Castiel could figure something out. Roxanna had gotten parts of their story as the three of them trudged back and forwards to Dean's car; carrying her bags back inside. She was pleasantly surprised to see that they had even managed to grab her sketchbook and canvases; all the loose art supplies had been left behind, but that was no big deal. Roxanna knew she should be grateful to the Winchester's for getting her out of the hotel before the cops had shown up. Lucky for her, upon checking into her room the old hunter's instinct had kicked in and she'd given a fake name. Not that anyone would be able to find her anyway. The bunker seemed like the most secure place in the whole friggin' country, so in a way Roxanna was glad to be there.

It was afternoon, and she sat with Dean and Sam around the long table in the library. The brother's were still mortified that Crowley had managed to get into the bunker in the first place, and they were all of them reading through the men of letter's documents to see how this could happen.

"I just don't get it." Sam said. "The whole place is warded."

"Yeah, I knew Crowley was a tricky son of a bitch but there isn't anything in the lore about how the hell he got in here." Dean slammed a book down on the table, before sitting back and sipping his beer like a sulking child. Roxanna was getting the distinct feeling that he was the volatile one, and she was beginning to wish there was a book in the bunker's library called: _'The Complete History of the Winchesters.'_ It would certainly clear up a few things.

"He said I was bound to him, remember? Maybe this is some part of the contract…" Roxanna rubbed at her face. "I told you guys, I can leave-"

"No." Sam interrupted her. "Now Crowley knows where the bunker is, he can come back anytime he wants. Besides, you're safest with us."

"I don't need you guys to look after me." Roxanna knew he was just trying to be nice, but even so, his words had ruffled her feathers. "I've spent my whole life surviving, usually by myself. Yes, I got out of hunting. But that doesn't mean I can't protect myself."

In truth, Roxanna was of the belief that she probably couldn't protect herself if shit went down, but she wasn't about to let the boys know that. She didn't like showing anybody her weaknesses. She had been like that since childhood in the orphanage. She had been passed back and forwards between foster carers because of her behaviour. Roxanna had never settled permanently anywhere; her relationship with Henri had been the closest she'd gotten to someone in a long time. It was better to come off as an ice queen than a weakling, wasn't it?

Her train of thought was broken when Dean chuckled to himself.

"What?" She waited for his reply.

"If I've learned anything, it's that you can't 'get out of hunting.' Trust me, I've tried. Oh sure, you might try and ignore it, but once you're in, you're in for life. Demons, ghosts, vamps, you can't just forget that they're out there." Dean paused, and looked straight at her. "I saw you back in the hotel, you're still one of us. Hunting's the only clarity you're gonna find in this life."

Roxanna tossed his words around in her head. Begrudgingly, she began to think that maybe he was right. Back in England, back in Paris, even- hunters were hunters for life. She couldn't picture Henri as anything other than a hunter, and ultimately she couldn't craft a picture of herself without that lingering knowledge of monsters. What was her future, really? Dean spoke about hunting with such reverence (or was it bitterness?), but in that moment the only thing that was clear in Roxanna's heart was that her own life was currently at the mercy of some ancient prophecy and a handsome demon in a suit.

In reply to Dean, all she could really do was nod. What was there to say? From where Roxanna was standing, everything was looking pretty bleak. She discarded the file she had been reading and picked up another, examining a set of rather grisly photographs of an exorcism gone wrong. The descriptions in the pages that followed were long and wordy enough to make Roxanna yawn, which set off a chain reaction down the table of yawns from Sam and Dean respectively. She did know if she should feel glad that they seemed to be as fed up as her.

She allowed her thoughts to wander, and they led her steadily to Crowley. Something about him resonated with her. His image kept coming to the forefront of her mind, like an echo that never stopped. She was angry with him, scared of him, and yet the-

The page that was open in front of her moved.

Sitting back in her chair, Roxanna stared from the page and then at the boys, although neither of them had noticed. With a sign, she supposed it had all been in her imagination; thinking about the whole Crowley situation was both confusing and exhausting after all.

'_On your twenty-first birthday you officially belong to me.' _

Remembering his words made her as angry now as it had when she'd heard them. But her anger wasn't directed at him, not really. It was her mother she felt betrayed by. She'd grown up believing that her mother had probably left her at the orphanage because she was in dire straits or something of that nature. Something that Roxanna could empathise with at the very least! But no – her 'mother' had been a fucking witch who had sold her daughter off to a demon like it was nothing. Had destiny been working its mojo? Was this all part of the prophecy? Crowley couldn't have known that he was 'buying' the supposed queen consort of Lucifer…

"What the hell!?"

Roxanna looked in Sam's direction to see that the book he'd had in front of him had levitated off of the surface of the table by at least twenty centimetres. It slammed back down again when Roxanna, with shaky legs, pushed herself away from the table in shock and began walking quickly in the direction of her room.

"Hey!? What was that?" Dean called after her.

"Don'taskmerightnowI'mgoingtobedgoodnight." Her reply came out so quickly it didn't even make much sense to Roxanna. Heart racing, she went into her room and closed the door, locking it behind her.

Her 'ability' to move things had been virtually non-existent for such a long time. Now suddenly it was happening when she didn't even want it to! She had a _theory_. But it was one best tested away from the eyes and ears of the Winchesters.

Leaning back against her door, Roxanna closed her eyes momentarily and allowed her mind to wander back to Crowley. She thought about the sound that his footsteps had made when he'd first strolled into view. It was hard and confident – like him. She thought about the perfectly placed knot of his red tie, of the buttons on his blazer and what he might look like if they were undone. She thought about his beard, dark with grey running through it. Was it soft? She thought about touching his face, of tracing his jaw-line with her fingertips, of being close to him. But above all other things, Roxanna thought about the way he had looked at her.

The hand mirror that had been on her desk shot across the room, breaking against the opposite wall and shattering.

Roxanna winced as she bent down to big up the jagged pieces. It seemed like whenever she thought about Crowley, her power went haywire. "Well, fuck."

"Language."

She'd know that voice from anywhere. Snatching up the largest, sharpest pieces of mirror, Roxanna turned and stood. But he had already waved his hand and flicked it out of her grasp before she got a chance to charge at him.

"Really, darling?" Crowley feigned disappointment, but there was no denying that sarcastic tone. He moved towards her slowly; back her up against a wall.

"Just tell me what you want." Roxanna gritted her teeth, fully prepared for him to lash out at her at any second.

Seeing this, Crowley allowed his gaze to travel the length of her body until he was staring right into her eyes. As he examined her, he backed off a few steps.

"Nothing, at least not yet. The prophecy, your power-" He waved his hand in the direction of the broken mirror. "This is a special case_._"

"Meaning?" Roxanna folded her arms across her chest defensively.

"Meaning in one month's time you _will _belong to me. One half of your mother's contract is already complete; and trust me, kitten, there's no going back. Fortunately for you, I'm a professional. I exploited a few loopholes in the forming of that contract, so who knows? Perhaps I won't tear your pretty little soul from your pretty little body right away."

Roxanna inhaled sharply, inadvertently revealing to the demon that she still had some hope left inside of her.

Crowley grinned as he sat down on the edge of her bed. "See? Things are already looking promising."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Note: <strong>**Don't worry, there's lots and lots of Crowley to come. Also - remember this fic is rated M, there will be sexytimes (*gasp!*) to come. Thanks everyone who has reviewed, please keep giving me your feedback. It's very much appreciated! :)**


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